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REVIEW: Steve Crowther’s verdict on Hannah Condliffe (oboe) and Dominic Doutney (piano), BMS York Concerts

Hannah Condliffe: Oboe soloist for BMS York concert

British Music Society York: Hannah Condliffe and Dominic Doutney, Sir Jack Lyons Concert Hall, University of York, March 17

HANNAH Condliffe opened this delightful concert with the second of Telemann’s Twelve Fantasias in A Minor.

In terms of productivity, Telemann is hard to beat. But these fantasias for solo flute not only enriched that repertoire in the early part of the 18th century; they were also highly regarded and very influential.

Ms Condliffe’s performance of the oboe transcription demonstrated why. The lyricism and gentle perpetual motion were ever present, and the performance was quite mercurial in this embracing acoustic.

In a change to the original programme, Dominic Doutney performed two of the Rachmaninov Preludes (Op. 32). The first Prelude was memorable for a simple, delicate, floating melody awash with colour underpinned with a whispery mid-range accompaniment. The pianist’s touch was crisp and finely judged. Just as it was in the G# minor Prelude where the ebb and flow, the weaving of textures made it a joy to listen to.

The two Études – Pour les Notes Repetées and Pour les Arpèges Composés reinforced what a very fine pianist Mr Doutney is. Technically the playing was superb, but it was the innate sense of musical architecture in the first Étude and the tender, intimate playing in the latter which impressed.

There was also a shadow of the blues. Maybe this reflected his serious illness, or the fact that it was written in 1915 during the First World War, or then again it could just be me picking up the vibes as there is little doubting the positive energy and indeed the music’s playfulness.

This takes us seamlessly on to the Two Insect Pieces by Benjamin Britten. The Grasshopper dutifully hopped about while The Wasp buzzed around with a menacing sting in its tail. The playing captured the charming imagery.

Samuel Coleridge-Taylor’s Deep River (arr. Maud Powell) was as moving as anything in the programme. The music just resonates in the soul – well, it did for me in this utterly immersive performance.

Like the opening Telemann, Britten’s three pieces from Six Metamorphoses after Ovid gave oboist Hannah Condliffe the chance to showcase her remarkable technique and musicianship. Pan’s free spirit is reinforced by the composer’s unmeasured notation and the frequent pauses. The performance captured this spellbinding, hypnotic quality.

By contrast, the musical depiction of the chariot ride of Phaeton in the second metamorphosis – fast and rhythmic – was exhilarating. Arethusa, fleeing the advances of the river god Alpheus and being transformed into a fountain, had both beauty and flow. Impressive.

The two players reunited to perform Poulenc’s homage to Prokofiev, the Oboe Sonata. The opening Elégie is technically demanding, but it was the charming engagement of the duo which was so affecting.

The music of the Scherzo may be described as witty, but it was the bristling vitality with its toccata-like drive to the close which was so thrilling. The final Déploration provided a touching, sober farewell to the great man.

The concert closed with Jeffrey Agrell’s Blues For D.D. The piece itself did not have much to recommend it – very clever, for sure, but cliched and derivative – but the performance did. It was fresh, zingy and utterly confident. Condliffe and Doutney clearly enjoyed performing the piece and the audience, apart from myself evidently, clearly enjoyed it too. So, amen to that.

Review by Steve Crowther

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REVIEW: Martin Dreyer’s verdict on Albion Quartet,  Sir Jack Lyons Concert Hall, York

Albion Quartet: Ann Beilby, left, Emma Parker, Nathaniel Boyd and Tamsin Waley-Cohen

Albion Quartet,  British Music Society of York, Sir Jack Lyons Concert Hall, University of York, January 13

ALTHOUGH only in existence for six years, the Albion Quartet has already visited York and North Yorkshire at least four times. Once a slightly cautious, even nervy, group they have matured considerably over that period.

Their appearance here for the British Music Society was ample proof of their progress, with string quartets by Haydn and Dvorak framing a shining piece by Freya Waley-Cohen written only four years ago.

Starting with Haydn is not the piece of cake it may seem. Ensemble needs to be neat and phrasing exact. You cannot get away with anything, the way you might perhaps in a modern, more diffuse work.

His Op 33 No 5 in G has a stop-start scherzo that demands the utmost concentration from the players for its humour to succeed. The Albions were more than up for it: they despatched it with supreme confidence.

They had settled straight into the groove in the opening Vivace and there was a satisfying zest about the closing theme and variations. Only in the slow movement might the leader, Tamsin Waley-Cohen, have been a little less edgy in her cantabile.

Her younger sister Freya’s Dust was written in 2019 after the premature death of Oliver Knussen, who had been her composition teacher. But its three movements are far from merely elegiac. The first, ‘Charlotte’, sounded like fragments of Haydn heard from a distance, stuttering at first but settling into a strong momentum, with the main action in the first violin.

‘Serpent’ was more like a scherzo. Again, its brio brought Haydn to mind, with frenetic, rhythmically exciting activity, first in the upper three voices, then in the lower three. There was anger, too, in its splenetic accents, which finally dissipated and slowed to a halt.

If there was a lament, it came in ‘Dust’, the final movement, which was reflective, lingering nostalgically, with two brief violin cadenzas before the tessitura rose inexorably, spidery at first before disintegrating into the ether. Dust is constantly intriguing and deserves to enter the repertoire permanently.

Dvorak’s first completed work on returning to Bohemia in 1895 after three years in America was his G major string quartet, Op 106. The grateful aromas of his homeland are unmistakeable here. The Albion pointed the contrast nicely between the effervescent opening and its calmer second theme.

The acceleration out of the development section was keenly observed, with Bohemian melodies presaging the sheer excitement of the coda. The slow movement was imbued with serenity, which held good despite the tug-of-war with darker colours at its midst. After a taut scherzo, with its smoother trio, the finale was notable for the way the voices tossed around its main four-note motif.

The finale of Dvorak’s ‘American’ quartet made a lively – and generous – encore. The Albion’s new self-confidence now allows its intelligence to shine through. Its return to Ryedale in the summer festival is an exciting prospect.

Review by Martin Dreyer

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REVIEW: Steve Crowther’s verdict on Elizabeth Brauss, BMS York, Sir Jack Lyons Concert Hall, University of York, February 17

Pianist Elizabeth Brauss

I AM going to frame this review of German pianist Elizabeth Brauss’s excellent recital with a couple of whinges. Firstly, there should be an usher seated at the exit doors during the recital. No matter how quietly someone intends to leave during a performance, the doors close with a disruptive kick. This could be easily mitigated and yes, it matters.

Now to the review: Throughout the concert, I was struck by how thoughtful, how sophisticated Ms Brauss’s playing sounded. This was self-evident from the opening Concerto in D minor by Bach (after Marcello).

The Allegro and Presto movements bristled with crisp, razor-sharp articulation while the central Adagio was achingly poignant, played with such lyrical tenderness. Quite remarkable.

As was Mendelssohn’s Variations Sérieuses. I confess that I have never heard the piece before, but goodness me what a wonderfully cultured, superbly knitted theme and variations it is. A few observations: stand-out points included the driven question-and-answer chat – left-hand octaves, right-hand chords of the third variation and the crispest of crisp staccato canon in variation four.

The sixth variation seemed to leap with neurotic joy, the seventh incredibly fast and thrilling. The musical bleed into the fugal variation ten was so wonderfully judged and the ensuing contrapuntal dialogue so clear and distinct.

Ms Brauss’s final variation or coda made the musical hairs on the back of your head stand to attention. They were still there throughout the performance of Hindemith’s mesmerizing, gently radical In Einer Nacht. What a marriage of intellect and emotion this turned out to be. Indeed, the character pieces, so wonderfully threaded together, had echoes of the second-half Schumann.

Once again, we were treated to a performance of serious insight and engagement. The work dazzles with diverse influences from opera, jazz and Debussy, closing off with a terrific bow in appreciation of J S Bach.

Ms Brauss delivered a full calendar of emotion, from simple playfulness to the gently twisted or grotesque. Her interpretation was infused with genuine empathy, as eloquently expressed in her introduction to the work.

After the interval, we were treated to a Schumann masterpiece, Carnaval. As is well documented, this collection of miniatures recreates a musical masked ball with guests including the composer’s friends, characters from the commedia dell’arte and Schumann himself.

The playing was so in tune with both the technical and creative demands, the characterisation so

vivid, that it left nothing to be desired or needed. Like the recital itself, every gesture here seemed infused with meaning, the whole work bristling with vitality.

Which brings me to close with my second critical point: why the encore? To be sure, it was Schumann (Von fremden Ländern und Menchen); to be sure, the performance was utterly poignant, but it just wasn’t necessary.

Following the conclusion of Elizabeth Brauss’s wonderful Schumann Carnaval, all that was needed was the rapturous applause it clearly deserved and then to set off, in the words of Paul Simon, homeward bound.

Review by Steve Crowther

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REVIEW: Martin Dreyer’s verdict on Yorkshire Baroque Soloists at 50

Bethany Seymour: Defied feeling under the weather

Yorkshire Baroque Soloists at 50, Sir Jack Lyons Concert Hall, University of York, January 25

IT hardly seems possible that Yorkshire Baroque Soloists has been in existence for half a century.

Founded by Peter and Yvonne Seymour, along with trumpeter John Wallace, who was a postgraduate student at University of York at the time, it has ploughed a steady, reliable furrow ever since, often alongside Yorkshire Bach Choir, which began life six years later.

This was a low-key celebration, partly because soprano Bethany Seymour had been under the weather, necessitating a late change of programme. Gone was a Bach solo cantata, replaced by a second Telemann trumpet concerto, thanks to the presence of the Danish trumpeter Niels Tilma, a dab hand on early trumpets.

There were also Bach concertos for violin and for harpsichord, along with two Handel arias and a cantata by Domenico Scarlatti.

In truth, it was a bit of a curate’s egg, good in parts. Hero of the evening was Tilma himself. In both Telemann pieces he was both lithe and accurate, playing a valveless clarino trumpet and making light of their high-lying lines.

Lucy Russell: “Confident account of Bach’s A minor Violin Concerto”

Telemann rests his soloist for most of his slow movements. The exception was the lovely Adagio at the start of his only designated concerto for trumpet. The other ‘concerto’ was in fact a Sonate de Concert with two violins in close attendance, providing lively dialogue.

Bethany Seymour sang despite her troubles, although her coloratura lacked its customary clarity in ‘Let The Bright Seraphim’ (Samson). In the other Handel aria, ‘Eternal Source Of Light Divine’ from Ode For The Birthday Of Queen Anne, she duetted neatly with Tilma’s trumpet. Sad to say, her Italian diction in the concluding Scarlatti cantata let her down: this hall is notoriously unkind to ladies’ voices.

That left two concertos, the only works here not using trumpet. Lucy Russell, whose career as a violinist more or less began with this ensemble and has blossomed notably since, especially as leader of the Fitzwilliam Quartet, gave a confident account of Bach’s A minor Violin Concerto. With only five strings to support her, the bass line – of violone as well as cello – was generally too prominent. But the finale was still exciting.

Less imposing was the Harpsichord Concerto in A, with director Peter Seymour at the keyboard. The problem was a lack of immediacy, caused by having the entire ensemble – eight at its maximum – situated in the back half of the stage, so that there was a large gap between players and audience.

Some harpsichord detail was inevitably indistinct, especially in the hectic finale, although the opening movement travelled at a pleasing clip. Nevertheless, prophets should not be without honour in their own country and we may be extremely grateful to have had such a consistently proficient ensemble in our midst for so long.

Review by Martin Dreyer

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REVIEW: Martin Dreyer’s verdict on Roderick Williams & Christopher Glynn

Roderick Williams: “Such a perfectionist about diction”

Roderick Williams & Christopher Glynn, Sir Jack Lyons Concert Hall, University of York, January 18

IT used to be said that a successful service in church was one where you came out feeling better about life because the sermon was so good. The feeling is similar when you go to a concert that fulfils every expectation and warms the soul. This was one of those rare occasions.

Christopher Glynn has commissioned new English translations of three of Schumann’s song cycles of 1840 from Jeremy Sams and has given York the honour of hearing their premieres.

Satisfyingly, it was a full house that greeted the first of these, Dichterliebe (A Poet’s Love). That was not all. Three other Schumann lieder prefaced the cycle. A further 16 followed the interval, including a Quilter cycle, all under the umbrella of “Tell Me The Truth About Love”. By any standards it was a feast.

For anyone who knew the Schumann cycle in the original German, the translation initially sounded wrong. No fault of Sams, but the original words kept floating to the surface of one’s memory. Yet in the end there was a gain; there had to be. Roderick Williams is such a perfectionist about diction that he clearly relished using his native tongue. It soon became infectious.

Presumably for copyright reasons, no translation was available. But just to take a single example, ‘Ich Grolle Nicht’. This began ‘I won’t complain, despite my pain’. Williams’s baritone positively dripped with irony, made possible by a translation that captured exactly what Heinrich Heine, the original poet, had in mind. The only disappointment was his decision not to take the optional high note in the penultimate phrase.

Throughout the cycle the flow of the words was hugely satisfying, matching the original syllable for syllable. Just occasionally, Sams failed to find enough syllables and had to resort to melisma (setting a syllable to more than one note). But this was unusual. This translation is a stylish achievement.

Christopher Glynn: “Extraordinary perceptions coming from his piano”

It almost goes without saying that Williams was totally inside the music. But he could not have done it without the equally extraordinary perceptions coming from Glynn’s piano, allied to an uncanny sense of timing. The postlude, larded with exquisite rubato, seemed to encapsulate all the feelings that had gone before, a perfect précis.

The second half was more free ranging. Four more lieder included three 19th century ladies, Clara Schumann, Fanny Mendelssohn and most notably Josephine Lang, whose harmonically gorgeous Abschied (Farewell) made a strong impact. All three deserve much more recital exposure.

Before them we heard Quilter’s Seven Elizabethan Lyrics and marvelled anew at his modern twist on old harmonies. ‘The Faithless Shepherdess’ was wonderfully crisp, while the setting of Ben Jonson’s ‘By A Fountainside’ was tenderly evocative. Williams is well suited to this cycle, which brings out the full compass of his baritone.

An Anglo-American group completed the evening, including Sophie Hannah’s witty The Pros And Cons and a nicely declamatory I Said To Love, the title song of Finzi’s Thomas Hardy cycle. William Bolcom’s Toothbrush Time was the natty encore. Williams and Glynn make a first-class pairing.

A ‘pre- recital’ featured four singers, all of whom showed promise, although none really made use of their words. They would do well to emulate Williams.

Review by Martin Dreyer

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REVIEW: Martin Dreyer’s verdict on University of York Symphony Orchestra, 26/11/2022

Conductor John Stringer

University of York Symphony Orchestra (USO) Sir Jack Lyons Concert Hall, University of York, November 26

TICKETS were like gold dust for the USO’s latest foray under its permanent conductor John Stringer.

This is a popular group and its standards are high. The programme encompassed London as painted by Elgar and Paris as seen by Delius and Gershwin, with a couple of brief side-trips from Grainger in between.

Elgar’s concert overture Cockaigne (In London Town) is a series of vignettes of London life. He wanted to lift his spirits in 1901 after the disastrous initial response to The Dream Of Gerontius the previous year. As an establishment outsider, he also needed a way back into the musical mainstream. Cockaigne did the trick.

The violins were immediately bold in the vivacious opening melody but the change of mood to the more serious side of the Londoner was fluently done, even if things only quietened down fully when we glimpsed the lovers in the park. The military march rang out with majestic bravado underpinned by an especially zealous timpanist.

Although premiered the same year as Cockaigne, Delius’s Paris: The Song Of A Great City is quite a different animal, much more personal, indeed almost autobiographical. It started a little uncertainly here, before finding its way into a more shapely impressionism; the sinuous phrasing of the bass clarinet led the way.

The night air was warmed by the saltarello rhythm suggesting distant revels. But after the frenzy of bacchanalia leading to the march we reached an immense climax, which suited the orchestra’s mood perfectly. Thereafter the encompassing lull before the last great chord was serenely controlled.

Percy Grainger struck up a lasting friendship with Delius, so there was a personal link in his Dreamery, which – contrary to the Grainger image of relentless jollity – is a quiet daydream for strings alone. It dates from immediately after the First World War  and is clearly nostalgic for calmer times. The orchestra’s fine body of violins were right at home here and all the strings enjoyed the composer’s delicate tapestry.

Equally brief but no less effective was Grainger’s arrangement of Ravel’s La Vallée des Cloches, from his piano suite ‘Miroirs’. Ravel had originally intended to orchestrate it himself. The opening section for tuned percussion was hypnotic. When the strings finally joined them, the violas made succulent use of their time in the spotlight.

We stayed in France for An American In Paris, Gershwin’s jocular parody of the archetypal Yank abroad, bold, brazen, and more than a little loud. He got off to a jaunty start, courtesy of the woodwinds, and the syncopation that followed was nicely edgy.

The sleaze quotient lifted with blues trumpet and tuba. Tempo changes were smoothly negotiated, as this American began to look and listen rather than impose himself. The ending was triumphant. It had all been a tasty travelogue.

Review by Martin Dreyer

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REVIEW: Martin Dreyer’s verdict on Carducci String Quartet, Sir Jack Lyons Concert Hall, University of York, 11/11/2022

Carducci String Quartet: “Nothing if not adventurous”

THE Carduccis, who are celebrating their 25th anniversary, are nothing if not adventurous.

Although they played Beethoven’s mighty Op 127 at the end of their programme for the British Music Society of York, they opened with Fanny Mendelssohn and Simon Rowland-Jones.

Felix Mendelssohn’s older sister was discouraged from composing even by members of her own family; it was not a “ladylike” activity. She was not to be deterred. But it took until the late 20th century for the quality of her works to receive proper recognition.

Fanny’s String Quartet in E flat, although written in 1834, was first published more than 150 years later, in 1988. Unusually, it opens with an enchanting slow movement of lyrical meanderings, which set the tone for the succeeding Allegretto. The Carduccis made one of their few false moves of the evening by opening this too fast for the fugal activity it contains, which had to be reined back.

A minor-key Romance, which moved briefly into the major, was unexpectedly edgy. The finale, Allegro molto vivace, was best suited to the Carduccis’ mood and enjoyed impeccable ensemble despite its furious tempo.

Simon Rowland-Jones’s Quartet No 7 was written for this group five years ago. It is subtitled Flock Of Knot (a knot is a small shore bird of the sandpiper family, should you be wondering). Its three inter-linked movements chart the sudden arrival, feeding procedures and equally startling departure of birds encountered during a winter stroll on Holkham Beach, Norfolk.

A babel of high-lying birdcalls, in rapid, tightly woven counterpoint, suddenly swoops low. The resultant calm is deceptive, growing ever more intense, although at a much slower pace; after a forceful climax, it fades into a cello solo that leads into the final, lively scherzo, which recalls elements of the opening. As the tessitura rises, it starts to fade into a concluding viola solo.

It can hardly be coincidental that Rowland-Jones is a viola player himself, having been a founder member of the Chilingirian Quartet. Autobiography aside, the piece is beautifully structured and constantly intriguing; it earned the Carduccis’ keenest attention.

We must be forever indebted to Prince Nikolai Golitzïn for commissioning the first three of Beethoven’s five late quartets. The first of these – and the only one to be published during the composer’s lifetime – was Op 127 in E flat major, and was given by the Carduccis as if their lives depended on it.

The opening chordal motif, twice repeated, was bold and rich and led into an Allegro of intoxicating momentum. The second variation in the Adagio was almost jaunty, but elsewhere its atmosphere was reverential, including wonderful dialogue between leader and cello and a pianissimo coda that evoked the former’s sweetest tone.

In the Scherzando, rhythms were incredibly crisp, reaching a peak of nervous electricity in its Presto section. Similarly, accents were supremely resolute in the finale, which reached a spellbinding vision of heavenly bliss in the coda before a dazzling finish. This was Beethoven playing of world class.

Review by Martin Dreyer

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REVIEW: Martin Dreyer’s verdict on Leon McCawley, Sir Jack Lyons Concert Hall, University of York, October 12

Leon McCawley: “No-one wanted to break the extraordinary spell he generated”

NO-ONE needs a second prompt when it comes to Leon McCawley. His success at the Leeds International Piano Competition, where he was runner-up in 1993, endeared him to northern audiences. Sure enough, there was a virtually full house for this generous recital, which included sonatas by Mozart, Beethoven and Schubert.

Yet there were more than a few times during the first half of the evening when his adrenalin seemed to take over from his judgement. That was not the case in the second half, which he devoted to Schubert’s last sonata, D.960 in B flat major.

Athletes and performers alike talk about being “in the zone”. For some, it has become something of a Holy Grail, desirable but unattainable. In other words, it is but rarely reached. McCawley found it here. He played the Schubert like a man possessed, not running amok, quite the opposite. The audience sensed it early on and kept incredibly quiet, even between movements. No-one wanted to break the extraordinary spell he generated.

In what is possibly the quietest of Schubert’s first movements, McCawley sustained a magical serenity, having taken longer than usual to start, poised over the keys but waiting. When the distant trills arrived, they carried not menace so much as weight, like a distant rumble of thunder without any rain.

Although Schubert’s multiple key-changes can easily disrupt the flow, they were not allowed to here, seeming perfectly and smoothly logical. A little acceleration here, deceleration there, which might have sounded pretentious, were all of a piece with McCawley’s intensity. This slackened not a whit in the Andante, which was deeply thoughtful and ended with the same serenity we had heard earlier.

The scherzo was fiery but light, with crisp inner voices. Gravity returned in the trio but evaporated with the scherzo’s return and peaceful conclusion. The finale was inevitably more extrovert, and even briefly stormy, but the scale was always intimate, as if secrets were being shared rather than trumpeted around the hall.

By now McCawley had the audience in the palm of his hand and could have got away with almost anything. But he kept faith with our intelligence and resisted the temptation to over-explain. It was possible to believe that this was exactly how Schubert intended it to be. Certainly it was a performance never to be forgotten.

He had opened with a brusque account of Bach’s Italian Concerto, BWV 971, which was accurate but had a scrambled feel, particularly in the final Presto. Beethoven’s E minor sonata, Op 90 was in retrospect the warm-up for the Schubert to come, shapely and with a great deal of surface feeling, but not quite penetrating to the innermost depths.

Mozart’s F major sonata, K.332 began with a pleasing clarity and ended with wit and finesse, while its central Adagio fluctuated tenderly between major and minor. But the Schubert was something else altogether.

Review by Martin Dreyer

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REVIEW: Martin Dreyer’s verdict on Gould Piano Trio, Sir Jack Lyons Concert Hall, University of York, October 19

Gould Piano Trio: Lucy Gould, Richard Lester and Benjamin Frith, right

NOT many ensembles undertake Tchaikovsky’s only piano trio. Its wide-ranging scope and the difficulties it presents, particularly to a pianist, put it outside many groups’ field of vision.

The Goulds, however, are not easily intimidated. They have recorded it, and preceded it here with Fanny Hensel (née Mendelssohn, Felix’s elder sister) and our own Judith Weir.

Tchaikovsky was pretty cut up by the death of his great friend Nikolai Rubinstein, the pianist who co-founded what became the Moscow Conservatory and also premiered Balakirev’s notorious Islamey.

After a summer of sorrow, he wrote his only piano trio over the Christmas period 1881-2, To The Memory Of A Great Artist. It reflects both the composer’s grief and the personality and prowess of Rubinstein.

The Gould’s success with the piece, played after the interval, depended to a great extent on the supreme control of its pianist, Benjamin Frith. His extremely rapid arpeggios in the opening movement, for example, were tastefully suppressed, so that balance with the strings was never under threat, and he kept his greatest intensity for the big climax after the central Adagio of this huge movement, from which the ensemble subsided gracefully.

The theme and 12 variations of the second movement, some of which are quite short, represent Rubinstein’s mercurial charm and incidents in his life, although Tchaikovsky is not specific about the details. So they require a chameleon-like response from the players. The Goulds were more than equal to the task, flashing between moods as to the manner born.

After the early repetitions of the folksong-style theme – sweetly eloquent in Lucy Gould’s violin, richly autumnal in Richard Lester’s cello – the two strings combined in tasty duet before Frith brilliantly evoked a musical box in Variation 6.

The succeeding waltz was sheer delight, while the Fugue was notable for the clarity of its individual voices. Frith really came into his own in the mazurka, where he evoked Chopin. The five-minute cut authorised by Tchaikovsky made the final variation and coda much more persuasive than if given complete.

Although going hell for leather, the players remained keenly aware of each other’s roles, while the closing funeral march, echoing the very opening of the work, was a tear-jerker. The work had sounded far better than this listener had thought possible. Indeed, I bought the disc.

Fanny Mendelssohn has only in recent years begun to be recognised for the superb composer she was, having languished far too long in her brother’s shadow. Her Piano Trio in D minor was written in 1846, the year before her death, although not published till 1850. So she never heard it, in public at least.

The work opened the evening. At once it was clear that the players were listening and responding to each other in the pleasing Allegro, and there was an equally charming lightness of touch in the gentle Andante. The 3rd movement, Lied, with its piano prologue, reached a surprisingly emphatic climax. In the finale, the Goulds again allowed the music to speak for itself – not as easy as it sounds – and this time its climax was beautifully prepared.

Judith Weir’s Trio – the first of two so far – dates from 1998 and is a beguiling piece. Although not programmatic, it is inspired by locations. The Venice of Schubert’s solo song Gondelfahrer (Barcarole) lies behind its opening, and it was easy to sense the bells of St Mark’s and the lights twinkling on the water, although the gondolier seemed to be making heavy weather of his paddling.

Scurrying strings with piano interjections marked the opening of the scherzo, with fiercer, lower timbres in its more accented trio, the two eventually coming into collision like satellites swerving off course.

African energies had been the inspiration here. Darting melodic snippets, looking for an alliance, resulted from her vision of deserted Hebridean beaches in the finale. This is spacious writing, gloriously uncluttered, and the Goulds revelled in it: music to hear and hear again, especially when played with such love.

Review by Martin Dreyer

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REVIEW: Martin Dreyer’s verdict on Jeneba Kanneh-Mason, Sir Jack Lyons Concert Hall, University of York, September 30

Jeneba Kanneh-Mason: “May take pride from her flying of the family flag”. Picture: John Davis

THERE are seven siblings in the prodigious Kanneh-Mason family, all of them musicians. I have heard only three of them, so I shall resist the temptation to make comparisons. But pianist Jeneba is No. 3 in the line-up and she is right up there.

A mixed bag that began with Bach and progressed through to Liszt at his most demanding opened the British Music Society of York’s 101st season.

She made a confident start in Bach’s C sharp major Prelude & Fugue, inner voices nicely differentiated, and changed mood immediately for Debussy’s three Estampes, written nearly two centuries later. There was graduated distancing of the magical bells in ‘Pagodes’, an insistent strum of habanera amid the fireworks in Granada, and very persistent, immaculately steady rain as backdrop to the child’s reverie.

Six years earlier than the Debussy, in 1897, Scriabin completed his Second Piano Sonata, in G sharp minor, subtitled ‘Sonate-fantasie’. It is a dark work, which was reflected in Kanneh-Mason’s strong left hand.

She delivered a grand, chorale-like sweep in the outer edges of the Andante, with remarkable variation in touch in between. The busy inner figurations of the presto held no terrors for her as she sustained a brilliantly menacing evocation of stormy seas.

She selected three from the 24 Negro Melodies composed in 1905 by the London-born Samuel Coleridge-Taylor, whose father hailed from Sierra Leone. For decades he was known almost solely by The Song Of Hiawatha, but at long last his other music (where is Hiawatha now?) is beginning to see the light of day again, not least through the ardent championship of the Kanneh-Mason family.

A defiant minor-key chorale, trombone-like, defined ‘At the Dawn of Day’ and there was more than a touch of plantation blues about ‘The Stones Are Very Hard’. Chopinesque harmonies infused the stately ‘Take Nabandji’. These were fleeting impressions only. Similarly understated was his Second Impromptu in B minor, inflected with sadness.

There was nothing in the least diffident, however, about her Liszt. The beautiful restraint of the introduction to Vallée d’Obermann only served to accentuate the orchestral tone she poured into its second half. A youthful boldness in her strongly-etched melody lines – allied, it almost goes without saying, to a formidable technique – made this an unalloyed joy.

If there was a touch too much rubato in the Second Hungarian Rhapsody, it certainly captured the spirit of the dance it enshrines. Jeneba may take pride from her flying of the family flag.

Review by Martin Dreyer